#I just wrote paragraph after paragraph

[kikis-dump]

My thoughts on the Trials of Apollo series from book 1 to a bit into book 3. So there are spoilers from up to that point. I want to freely rant about this epic series okay o<-<

In book 1 I was fucking crying and laughing my way through that damn book and don’t regret it at all. One moment Apollo is being such a silly little ex-god and the next moment he’s being all sad and remembering his past lovers which mad ME sad. PLS APOLLO I CAN ONLY HANDLE SO MUCH. It was the most confusing experience which makes my head hurt but it was entertaining and gave me good angst and plot and I loved it all the same. I genuinely didn’t know what to think of the alternating angst and humor. Then just when I was reading the epic rescue of Apollo and then I had to quickly recover from idk- HIM SINGING OF HIS FAULTS FROM HYACINTHUS AND DAPHNE I’M SORRY WTF APOLLO???? and then after that was Meg’s betrayal and then it just…CLICKED ??? Her apologizing sm after Apollo sang the song at the ant cave thing….I actually did almost cry from her betrayal cause it really did hurt that much- and then APOLLO GETS HIS GOD STRENGTH FOR A FEW MOMENTS TO SAVE HIS CHILDREN. IF HE ISN’T GODLY DAD OF THE YEAR FOR THAT I’M THROWING A FIT

His whole mindset of God to mortal was so clear and even if that Godly charisma of his stayed it made Apollo…well Apollo. It was his personality with a hint of mortality! Best character development I have ever seen AND IT JUST CONTINUES IN THE NEXT BOOK???

Anyway so then the thing with going to Indianapolis and oh god it just displayed some of the best parts of Apollo’s new mindset and him caring for Meg but then his past with Commodus or wtv his name was, was like the highlight of him before and now. Even though most of the people didn’t see that Apollo changed even a bit, it truly displayed his regret, his actions, his faults and what it meant to be a God for him, to the reader. I don’t have many things to say cause I need the info to settle in my mind because that book was me literally anticipating Apollo��s mortality and I wasn’t disappointed at all. And also I was starting my internal panic cause the plot finally picked up and I was really scared in the cave seen and ya- 😭😭😭

So then in Book 3 rn i’m in between the scene where Medea shows up and tells Apollo and the rest about the Helios thing and ya around that part and now I’m excited to see Meg’s backstory more- not excited for Jason’s death…maybe death? But still I’m scared- I’m still taking a break so I could process everything cause Ngl I read these 3 books straight in like 2-3 days I swear I read the book well but I want to go back to some scenes and internally cry over them.

Also unrelated but 3 years ago while I was still reading Mark of Athena, Jason’s death was spoiled to me and now when I finally decide to read the Trials of Apollo I can’t help but get really sad and scared for his death cause I recently got reattached to him as a character because of BoO (as late as that character development was, I still love it). I only know he dies somewhere in the 3rd or 4th and it’s scaring THE SHIT OUT OF ME. LIKE CMON PLS

But at the same time I want to genuinely cry at his death but I’m afraid that spoiling myself already removed that possibility and it makes me sadder :((

Okay rant done, hopefully my mind will finally be at peace to be able to think properly for the next few days 🥰

[okkalo]

morning workout

sae x reader

genre(s): fluff

warnings: none

I WANNA WRITE FOR RIN SO BAD BUT I ALREADY HAVE SO MUCH RIN SO IM TRYING TO EVEN IT OUT AND IT SUCKS BC RIN WOULD BE SO CUTE IN THIS SCENARIO

“sae…i think i’m actually about to die,” you claimed in between your tired pants, hands resting on your waist. sae could only roll his eyes at your statement, which wasn’t even close to the first one this morning.

“you’re the one who wanted to join my morning workout,” he mentioned while watching your exhausted form. “besides, you’re on your last set anyways.”

when you begged sae to let you accompany him to the gym this morning you were expecting nice couple time. maybe even a time to watch him sweat and show his muscles. besides, you’ve heard how working out can make you feel better. so, of course you persisted on joining sae this morning.

big mistake. it was sae’s leg day and he gave you the same workouts as his, of course with less weights. that didn’t make it any easier.

so here you were, on the last set of your weighted squats feeling the immense aching of your legs. “my legs won’t do another one, sae.” you finally got over your heavy breathes, meeting his eyes.

“this is the last workout of today, you can do it. and if you really can’t then i’m right behind you. i won’t let you get hurt,” he tried to compromise, knowing how much you looked forward to this morning. it made you feel warm—well, warmer than you were—seeing him actually care enough to try to push you a little.

“you’ve already hurt me with this workout, babe,” you sighed, letting your hands fall to your sides as you looked towards the bar. he walked up, stopping in front of you and letting his hand meet your cheek while he occupied your other cheek with a kiss. he gave you a small push to make you look at him.

“ten more, you’re so close,” was all he could say, struggling to come up with more inspiration to give you. really, him saying anything at all was a lot coming from him though. knowing this you gave him a hesitant nod, walking out of his hold to the squat rack—you’re new worst enemy.

“don’t let me die here, please,” you added, dipping your head to the other side of the bar, adjusting your hands as you saw fit. you took a minute to breathe and ready yourself, sae giving you a small squeeze on your hip as you did so.

“i’m right here,” was all you needed to hear before you took your last breathe and lifted the bar. it was a painfully long last set, your legs shaking each time you pushed yourself up. sae noticed, hands carefully hovering around your figure as he mumbled the count. he immediately took the bar once you finished, taking the weight off of you.

“good job,” he gave a muttered praise, hand meeting your back as you went back into your earlier position. he leaned forward to give you another kiss on your flushed cheek before retreating to take the weights off the bar.

“sae, never let me join you again,” you struggled to say in between your breathes, watching as he put the equipment away. “i’m so glad i’m done.”

“we still have to do our cooldown stretches,” he reminded you, prompting a long and loud whine to escape your lips.

unedited thanks for reading!

[ramen8008]

Eurylochus: you miss your wife so bad you'd trade the lives of your own crew

Odysseus: Brother, you killed 500 of our men cause curiosity got the best of you

[eyesontheskyline]

Has anyone else been in the Criminal Minds fandom for like... more than a few years? Like, long enough to remember when the fandom was mostly made of people who watched at least most of the show before they started seeing fandom content? I'm curious whether the culture shifts in the fandom feel to anyone else like. . . the result of a large chunk of the fandom having certain expectations of characters or relationships or dynamics before even meeting them, based on seeing tiktok edits and tumblr discourse?

[ourfag]

i think part of the resistance i’ve seen in response to the view of ed as an abuse victim—not just the view of izzy as someone who abused ed, but of ed as someone who was abused by him, as opposed to interpretations that pursue an image of Nuance and Complexity (unnecessarily, because their dynamic has heaps of both, but there seems to be a popular impulse to conflate complexity with shared culpability) by characterizing their relationship as being toxic/unhealthy in equal reciprocity, or as “mutually abusive” (oxymoron)—i definitely see the influence of racism there, but i think the racism is also working to amplify an adjacent issue where we tend to receive very specific cultural messaging about What An Abuse Victim Looks Like, and ed is excluded from a lot of that criteria.

he’s outspoken. he’s boisterous. he’s Very Cool and he Wears Leather. he’s physically bigger and browner than the person mistreating him. he spends the first season with a big grey beard, he’s covered in tattoos, he projects the image of A Man’s Man, to say nothing of his being a man in the first place. we see him get aggressive and we see him get angry (and sometimes we even see both at the same time). we see moments where he’s surly, prickly, insensitive, arrogant. his survival techniques and trauma responses incur collateral damage to other people, and in the second season this extends into affecting people we actually sympathize with. he’s extremely private about expressing fear. without examination, his professional relationship to izzy seems to position him as the one with the power slanted in his favor.

most damningly, we see him react multiple times to izzy’s abuse with physical violence. this is behavior that gets referenced all the time in the construction of narratives condemning subjects of physical abuse, let alone emotional abuse. which is why writing that intends for its audience to interpret a character as being unambiguously A Victim Of Abuse will often, for simplicity’s sake, avoid showing the character regularly engaging in anything of the kind.

and again, all of these departures from the image of The Model Victim are compounded by his being a man of color.

without any of the shorthand designed to point a big flashing arrow at his mistreatment, all we have left to work with are the words and actions we see from ed and izzy onscreen. who instigates conflict, and how does the other respond? how are they able or allowed to respond? how do we see them speak about each other to outside parties? does one go out of their way to control or isolate the other? what consequences does either party stand to face in saying “no” to the other? in acting against the other’s wishes? in trying to leave the relationship? when either of them attempts these things, how do we see the other respond?

i realize and appreciate what people are driving at when they garnish their analysis with disclaimers that they’re not saying ed’s just a poor innocent abuse victim, they’re not saying he’s a perfect angel who’s never done anything wrong, and that’s true, but these are points already contained implicitly in statements like “this show’s protagonists act like human people” and “ed’s emotional struggles are portrayed in a realistic and believable way.” my assumption is that these disclaimers are anticipatory responses to worst-faith interpretations of any discussion that attributes any victim status to ed whatsoever, so i definitely sympathize with their inclusion, but a (very small) part of me still worries about them potentially reflecting or reinforcing a belief that there is any way for someone to behave towards their abuser that imparts a responsibility for them to make right whatever damage the abuser receives, or for that matter any degree of ambiguity over their status as an abuse victim in the first place.

part of what i find so gratifying about ed as a character is that i don’t feel like the show’s writing is pressuring me to consider that ambiguity at all. which was a really nice thing for me to discover!

and tbh—did using ed to deconstruct The Model Victim even factor into the writers’ agenda?? ive got no clue. im guessing no? ??maybe?? probably not?? but if you create a main character whose central premise is that he feels trapped in a performance of exaggerated masculinity that he’s desperate to escape, and then you set him up with a character premised on embodying a tangible obstacle against that escape, then i guess that’s the natural shape your story’s gonna be inclined to take

[lucindasthighs]

hmmgh thinking about laurance but his shadow knight powers connect him to the environment. And he HATES it.

He wants to pretend that he's not changed, that he can go back to a normal life- But he can hear the tremble of the earth as the memories of old gods vibrate through it; he can sense the withering of plants, the decay of corpses in his vicinity.

The feeling he hates the most is the burning, vicious hatred in the back of his consciousness. It's not his - it's old and faded, like the imprints of letters in a worn book. Sometimes, he can't even tell it's there. But he's quickly reminded when he gazes at Irene Aphmau, and it flares with intensity, like an old wound that never healed.

It's not his...right?

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

📖⛵🐑 thank you <3

there’s not enough work for my my man wojchek out there.

In This Moment, We Could Crash Together - Wojchek/Reader

Warnings: Female reader, no use of Y/N, fluff.

Wordcount: 1540

Summary: He was only with you for a short while, but maybe you could keep him if he let himself keep you.

Notes: I was going to attempt sleep again but I cannot resist my jolly sailor bold 🥰 Wojchek was the first character I actually shipped with, back when I was slowly falling in love with DD and the few roles I'd seen, so I kinda waxed poetic with this one 🥰 thank you sosososo much for sending this one right before bed, I hope you enjoy 💗💗💗

You sometimes wondered what he was like when he was out at sea on the Demeter, when he was the captain of his own ship and everyone followed his every command. You could only guess as you watched him give orders from the windows of your dockside home or from the busy street down below, everyone bustling around like ants and keeping you from getting too close. You only truly knew what he was like in moments like this, when he made port for a day or two to rest and resupply, never back for longer than a week.

The two of you were currently on your bed, his long body draped between your skirt-trapped legs as he rested in your lap, your idle hands carding through his long hair as he slept.

He was always tired when he returned home, never showing it in the early days as he courted you with all the confidence of a man who knew the sea but not love, but now that you’d been together a few years he let you see this side of himself more often, not afraid to appear weak or vulnerable in front of you anymore. It made your heart soar every time he trusted you enough to close his eyes a moment, to relax on solid ground where it made him miss the ebb and flow of the waves, the unpredictability of the sea always bringing around the uncertainty of when he’d return to you next.

He didn’t have a home of his own other than the Demeter, and before he’d met you he used to sleep on board, not wanting to waste the money on a room when it could be used for better things, the promotion to captain giving him someplace more private for the first time in years. When you’d suggested he stay with you after a few months of meeting in the alleys along the docks he’d refused at first, for to spend one night would make this feel real, permanent, a temptation to stay. You promised him then that you’d never make him choose, you could never, knowing of his first love and how you could never compare to her, your eyes barely holding in your tears as he’d then lifted your hands to his lips and pressed soft kisses to your knuckles as he told you that the sea wasn’t his only love anymore.

He had no possessions to leave with you, nor any guarantees that he would return sooner than a month, if at all, most of the time, the two of you just needing to trust that he knew what he was doing and that his crew would help him finish the voyage. When he left and you were alone in your flat once more there were never any traces of him there to remind you of him, nothing but the memory of seeing him in all the places he no longer was. Over time it became painful to watch him walk out your door so you’d started standing on the docks just to be able to hold him for a few seconds longer, and each time you parted you felt like he was talking a part of you with him as you watched the Demeter sail away until it was nothing more than a speck on the horizon.

Neither of you spoke openly of love after that first time, but you knew deep in your heart that you were in love with him every time he returned back to you, arms open and waiting for you to rush back to him before time could tear you apart again.

He stirred but didn’t wake as you brushed the backs of your fingers tenderly over his cheek, feeling the rough stubble and wishing you could kiss him, but to attempt to do so would disturb him and that was the last thing you wanted. He usually dreamed so fitfully when he was on land but today he was calm, the two of you choosing this location since your old couch was too small for him to stretch out on even by himself, and as soon as you’d pulled him down to situate himself he’d almost instantly fallen asleep. It must’ve been a rough voyage for him to be this exhausted, chest rising and falling under his hands as they rested over his torso, the sight almost hypnotizingly rhythmic as you watched him.

Eventually you did have to wake him, though, your stomach grumbling against your will and rousing him from sleep before you could give him just a few more minutes. The sun had set a while ago now, the warm breeze carried from the water growing cold and making you shiver but he hadn’t noticed, used to it after so many years. He looked around before his eyes became adjusted to the dark, you weren’t able to light any candles with him laying on you after all, his head falling back against your stomach as he remembered where he was.

He mumbled something in his native language as he watched you, a small smile on your lips as you brushed your hair out of your eye in embarrassment. ‘I don’t understand,’ you admitted, his hand reaching up to caress you the same way you’d done to him.

‘I said, “you’re so beautiful,”’ he repeated in English, your cheeks flushing at the sudden sentimentality. It wouldn’t be proper to tell him how beautiful you thought he was in return, even though it was true, settling for handsome as you leaned forward until you could press a kiss to his forehead; you were stopped from sitting back up as his hand then found the back of your neck, keeping you close long enough to give you the kiss you’d been wanting, like he’d been able to hear your desires even in his sleep. ‘We make way for Barcelona tomorrow,’ he reminded you even more suddenly than his sentimentality, your faces still so close that you couldn’t even attempt to hide how you felt from him.

‘It’s so far…’ You hated the jobs that brought him away from you for more than a month, several weeks needed to get there, let alone return.

‘You promised to never make me choose,’ he reminded you, voice low but not upset, and you tucked your hair behind your ear as you sat back against your pillows.

‘I won’t,’ you reassured him, but still he pushed himself up to sit and look at you.

‘It won’t be as long as last time,’ he said, already knowing down to the day how long it would take, the markings of a great captain. It filled you with pride to think about it but still you wished you could go with him just once, just so the wait wouldn’t have to feel like an eternity. You could never share that secret desire though, it would be too much to ask for from him, so you can only look away, stay silent. He shifted himself over your leg so he could crawl up to the pillows, now laying beside you as you were the one to be lowered against his chest, his arms, toned and tanned from many years of rising in the ranks until he was where he was now, wrapping around you and reminding you that he was still there, he wasn’t leaving just yet.

His hands were rough from a lifetime of labour but they still touched your cheek so softly it felt like an ocean breeze, his breathing calm as you gave in, got comfortable against him, your hunger forgotten as you mesh together effortlessly. You played with one of the holes in his shirt as he brushed your hair out of your face, mirroring you without realizing in a way that only a lover can, and when you try to hold his hand he brings it up to his lips, kisses each knuckle before hesitating on your bare ring finger.

Your hands found a place on his lap, his thumb running over the space and drawing your attention to it, the topic of the future just as elusive as the one of love in the days you were able to spend together, that silence finally broken as he laced his fingers together with yours. ‘When we leave tomorrow, do not follow me to say goodbye,’ he whispered, your heart aching as your body started to tremble. ‘Do not say goodbye, but come with me, let me introduce you to my second love.’

‘I thought I was your second,’ you blurted out before you could stop yourself, and he smiled with the shine of the sun in his eyes as he tilted your head up towards his own. ‘What about the crew?’

‘If they have a problem with you, I’ll throw them over myself,’ he promised, his expression making you feel like you could believe in him, in this. ‘Kocham cię,’ he then told you gently, your eyes closing even though you didn’t understand.

‘What does that mean?’ you asked, his lips just a breath out of reach before he closed the final gap, the translation still on his tongue as he kissed you.

‘I love you.’

[swlyf-24]

Adrenaline in velocity

Logan treated every race as if it were his last. He had put everything the car could give him and raced until the word was in flames. Maybe he was waiting for people to praise his improvement or for people to cheer for him. Who was he kidding? Logan was no one important.

It was clear his team despised him and had already expressed a desire for Carlos to succeed him.

'BREAKING: Carlos Sainz will join the team for ‘25, ‘26 and beyond 🤩​'

It was no surprise that Logan's dream would end. He had spent an entire childhood and teenage life just to chase something that had always been out of reach. If Logan gave up racing, he would be living the American life: partying out all night, eating whatever he wished, and everything he has ever wished for. If Logan had given up racing, would he be as miserable as he is now?

Seeing the words on the blinding screen only ate at Logan's heart. Oh, how it wished it could tear away from his ribcage and shatter the glass sky. A dream waits for him, yet he couldn't chase it.

"Trust yourself. You have survived a lot, and you will survive whatever is coming," they would always say. Logan knew better. He knew better than to trust words that brought him comfort and peace.

Every step in the paddock could be his last. This could be his last race, his last time putting on his helmet, his last time stepping into the car, his last time feeding off adrenaline, his last step into Williams. It could also be the last time Logan would ever feel the weight on his shoulders, crushing him.

"You tried your best, Logan. There's no shame in it." Really? Do they think that it really is Logan's best? Do they think that he can't do any better? Flames ate away at his heart—like a bonfire—burning away whatever he had left of Williams. It wasn't fair; it never was. What is Logan expected to do now? Trudge around mindlessly without a purpose of where to go or lead?

"You're one of the top 20 best drivers in the world, you have a reason to be here, to have a seat."

Maybe if Logan had more time, he could bring the junk of metal onto the podium—basking in the glory of sweet champagne as it went into his eyes. Logan would be too busy grinning to bother of the champagne stinging as it brought tears. He would party in bars, wasting away with alcohol just like he should be in his teenage years. Logan would wake up next week with a headache as his team and friends laughed at his antics. He would rock back and forth on his heels as he waited for the next race. Logan would play padel with Alex and Oscar and so many of his friends, his hair would be entirely coated with sweat. He would win a championship.

It was all just a dream—a dream that waited for none. If you were fast enough, perhaps you would be able to chase the dream that was out of reach. A Williams? Never in a million years would it be fast enough to give Logan a taste of glory—a taste of the world hearing his national anthem as he stood with hands behind his back, baring his teeth towards the sky, American flag wrapped around his shoulders like an embrace.

Logan wished he could scream at the top of his lungs how no one knew him truly. Or how he was the American who won a WDC, the American who won his first race in F1.

"I'll try, and make my way to Formula 1." a child with a mind full of dreams had uttered such words. Logan had done so well in Formula 2, what changed?

Logan could only hope that the taste of adrenaline would suffice for the races that still wanted him. That the champagne won't taste any sweeter nor would the trophies and medals shine any brighter for anyone.

[chateautae]

hi everyone 🥺

[pancakehouse]

writing in past tense is lowkey the one that got away.. i will think ive moved on and then suddenly there she is. finding her way into everything i do.

[steelycunt]

everyone get up and make some noise for sirius' vivienne westwood two cowboys with their cocks out shirt!! we're losing our minds over here for sirius' vivienne westwood two cowboys with their cocks out shirt!!

[alicent-archive]

Just wrote in Aemma’s pov for my future fic ‘the family eats the family’ and holy fuck wow was that horrifying 😃, that being said, here’s a snippet of it:

@carriellie 🫶

(TW! Horrific depiction of childbirth, a graphic non-consensual c-section, and death).

The story repeated in the Red Keep goes like this: the Queen fought valiantly until her last breath, that she died doing her duty, and that she died for the future of the realm.

What they do not say is that Aemma died screaming, she died in agony, and she died feeling more afraid than she had ever felt in her life.

Aemma died pinned to the bed by her own attendants who had ensured the temperature of her baths were safe; she died with the Maester who had given her milk of the poppy to grant her a painless sleep the previous night hanging over her with a sharp instrument meant for sawing; and she died watching her womb be sliced from top to bottom with her husband--her Viserys oh what have you done Viserys please--allowing them to saw and saw and saw into her until her baby was wrestled out of her guts.

She died not knowing if her child was a Visenya or a Baelon.

[queer-geordie-nerd]

If any society as a whole really cared about uplifting and supporting rape survivors as much as we like to pretend we do, or even half as much as we like to make excuses for abusers and rapists, perhaps women wouldn't feel the need to keep the abhorrent crimes perpetrated against them to themselves for years for fear of being re-traumatised by the legal system and the court of public opinion.

[proton-wobbler]

Red Crossbill - (Luxia curvirostra)

Chadron State Park - Fall 2023

Featuring a male and female! As with most finches, crossbill will all resemble females when they first leave the nest, with brown and greenish-yellow plumage. As males age, this shifts to an orangey-red before becoming a more full and bright red color. Females may eventually develop some orange feathers themselves, but will stay yellow throughout their lives.

Red crossbill are an incredibly wonderful, frustrating, confusing, strange species. They are conifer-dependents, and their special bill-shape has evolved to pry open cones so the birds can extract their nuts for food. This, combined with their huge range of "the Northern Hemisphere" means there is a lot of variability in these birds- most specifically their bill size/shape and their flight calls. The 'type' of crossbill in my park is Type 2, a Rocky Mountain type who prefer Ponderosa Pine.

I'm going to link the wikipedia article for this species, because they are an absolute wild ride in showcasing how human categorization does not neatly contain wildlife.

All banding, marking, and sampling is being conducted under a federally authorized Bird Banding Permit issued by the U.S. Geological Survey's BBL. Permission to share images was granted by Bird Conservancy of the Rockies (BCR).

[dallonwrites]

+ passage of beau running that i wrote on rachel's stream and then spruced up afterwards...i'm a running boy atm so this was fun esp coming up with the neighbor details. sometimes specificity like this won't come for me at all but sometimes it does and its beautiful!!!!

In the evening he runs alongside the sunset. He thought about driving out somewhere beautiful, even if it was just to run somewhere by Golden Gate Park, like a tourist, but instead settles for the neighborhood, the same loop he’s done for six months that shows him the same sights over and over — the sidewalk patch with chalk drawings of whatever the children from the house behind it are interested in, recently its butterflies and beetles; the house that used to belong to a couple who sold desserts to a local bakery until it shut down, who’d let him and his Mom pick figs and plums from their yard, and then the new owners cut down the trees. He runs past the turn where he almost crashed into a parked car during his first driving lesson, the house with the boy he sometimes sat next to on the bus who knew where to get pot and once got high and kissed in the boy’s old treehouse until their hands travelled downwards, and then he never spoke to Beau again. The sunset is quick, it swells orange until it fades into itself. He runs past the front yard with the painted rock garden for the grandmother who died when he was fifteen, just after they moved here, who they never met but still brought baked coconut bars to the open reception to be courteous, to be kind. He tries to zone out after the second loop, focus on himself and what's in front of him, the trees and streetlights and when they move past —whenever he gets tired he imagines it as film, motion passing through a reel. And then he's home, the evening dimly lit. He ran for the duration of a-ha’s Scoundrel Days album, which is only about 40 minutes but he’s tired, more than he thought; or he doesn’t think he’s really that tired but there’s a heaviness to it, all weighted and jittery. Back inside he doesn’t stretch, just stands in the cold shower for a long time.

[chebepowder]

😭 Incredible start to this very good article.